So glad you've come...

Welcome to Tigressland, my own personal little corner of the Internet where I hang out expressing my views about the smaller things in life. No controversy here (I'm saving that for the book lol) just the everyday minutiae that add up to my rather unpredictable, but always fun, life! So pull up a cushion and come chill.....and follow! We bloggers love it when you follow ;-) ~Tigress

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Thursday, 4 June 2015

So what does one do when one witnesses a
stage show, the likes of which (or should that be witch...) one has not seen
before? A show so entertaining, enthralling, awe inspiring and quite
simply.....magical that one would watch it again and again and again? A show
that was irresistibly.... Wicked!?

Well, blog about it of course. Whaddya
think I have this thing for?

It was an epic night I must say: a delicious dinner at
Perth’s Atrium restaurant, a cocktail hither and yon, thoroughly entertaining
theatre, all shared with the delightful company of my newly promoted fiancé and
the Gypsy Niece.

Aaah good times

But it was the theatre that thoroughly stole the night.

From the second Glinda the Good Witch
appears on stage in her mechanical bubble you know you’re in for a treat.
Through imaginative (and oft humorous) script and brilliant singing performances
“Wicked: The Untold Story of the Witches
of Oz” tells the tale of Glinda and Elphaba, two, at first very reluctant,
school chums who slowly learn to trust and embrace each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies
to form a strong, if unlikely, friendship.

Glinda is good; somewhat irritating, judgemental,
self absorbed, hyperactive and shallow, but good nonetheless. Elphaba is also
good...just...well...green.

As the plot unfolds, the audience learns
the chain of events which lead to Elphaba taking up the role of ‘Wicked witch
of the west” showing, of course, that no person is shaped in a vacuum and
frequently things are not always as they seen. And more specifically, just
because you’re green and a bit pissed off, doesn't mean you did what they say
you did.

All the psyche contributors are there: parental inadequacy, cultural misunderstanding, the trials and tribulations of
friendship....not to mention a spot of romantic rivalry to boot. No dramatic
stone is left unturned as those watching are taken on a whirlwind trip through
the ages, leading up to the moment of Elphaba’s apparent demise and the return
of order to society.

It is delightfully well done.

And overall the entire story unfolds
seamlessly alongside the original 1939 Wizard
of Oz narrative. Little nods here and there are cast toward plot points
which almost all viewers will recognize: A house falling here, a tin man created
there...and a lion cub that she really didn't mean to scare the crap out of,
but basically, sometimes, shit just happens.

One also learns that animals once spoke and
it was the government of Oz shutting this phenomenon down. So not only is the audience
challenged to think about the value of diversity over assimilation, but the parallels
drawn between the politics of Oz and our own media/government controlled culture were
deliciously en pointe as well.

I know what some of you may be thinking: Could
I possibly be over-‘adulting’ a delightful children’s tale?

Oh bugger off. If it’s one thing that the
likes of The Simpsons, South Park and Family Guy have taught us, it’s that
childlike stories are often the best way to affect cultural change. As many news shows fall further
and further into the abyss of farcical infotainment (and often the ‘info’ part
is debateable), lessons on morality must be inserted, in easily digestible lumps, within other genres.

And it’s not like these guys were
particularly subtle about it. The wizard especially comes out with some
delightful quotes that are particularly thought provoking:

“Where I come from, we
believe all sorts of things that aren't true. We call it history.”

[after Elphaba
discovers he's behind the anti-Animalism] “Where I'm from, the best way to bring people together... is to
give them a really good enemy.”

That last one eh.

Well now.

But the redirecting of one’s moral compass
aside, the show was good, damn good. And you could be forgiven for wanting to
take up any of the performing arts after having seen it. But I doubt you’ll be
able to compete with Suzie Mathers’ (Glinda) trilling and infectious energy or
Jemma Rix’s (Elphaba)...well anything....not only was her voice fantastic but
even her cheekbones (green or otherwise) were enough to make you feel
desperately inadequate...but in the best possible way.It is simply delightful, From fantastic sets to fabulous merchandise....what's not to love here.

A little collage a la Gypsy Niece :)

Do I even need to say that I would
recommend this show? Really? I’ll even take it a step further for you and say, I’ll be extrememly impressed if anything I see from now beats it. Stay tuned though, coz I
think the Kevman is now turning me into a Showaholic....

I shall attempt to show restraint though
(pun completely intended), as we now have a wedding to save for. I must remain calm in the face of tempta........

Thursday, 28 May 2015

Now as I have possibly mentioned once or
twice before, I have a somewhat addictive personality. Especially when it comes
to books and /or sorting things.

I think I may have an issue here

You see, in my infinite wisdom, I decided
to begin doing some volunteer work at one of the local second-hand stores. And
I just happened to randomly select the one with nearly floor to ceiling
bookshelves...randomly....ok it was the only one I went in but that is
completely beside the point.

There were shelves of them softly
whispering my name.

And they were saying: “Tidy me, sort
me...love me”

How could I not offer my time after pleas
like that?

So I signed up and got busy. And so far, it’s
just like a Maccas commercial: I’m loving it! It hasn’t been all about
the books though; not my choice initially, but I have since discovered that my
organizational bent can be aimed in just about any direction to great enjoyment.

If my body would allow...I’d probably be
there every day.

I'm even learning about clothes. After an initial conversation with our
visual merchandiser for Western Australia, I was questioned on my knowledge of
fashion clothing and top labels and such. Considering I have about as must grace
and sophistication as your average bogan (if you’re not from Australasia...Google
the term, it will provide hours of entertainment), I could not wax informative
on that subject. I have enough trouble differentiating chain store brands let
alone discussing the finer points of catwalk haute couture.

“Don’t worry, there’s a list” she said
smiling comfortingly. Oh thank God for that. But I can’t say that I've ended up
playing with the clothes much (or that I'm especially heartbroken about this). I've been
a tad busy elsewhere reorganising the children’s section, lining the cups up in sets (you
have no idea how satisfying that is), organising the linen and craftwares, and
generally tidying and reorganizing to create more space.

Now the interesting thing that happens when
you create more space is that you can fit more stuff in the shop without the
store looking messy or overcrowded; which in turn translates to the customers
having more choice; which in turn translates to higher sales figures.

Our store sold over $1000 the Saturday
before last. This is the first time our store has done this.

I’m just casually putting that out there.

But that doesn't mean the other volunteers
aren't doing a wonderful job as well...it’s just that you need enough of us to
be able to make the real magic happen. A mad organiser can’t focus on getting the
shop all ship shape and Bristol fashion if he/she has to stop every five
minutes to serve a customer or sort an incoming donation. It’s a team thing;
the bigger the team, the more you can get done. Especially if you play to the
strengths of each team member. But, I have t say, there is also a ‘logic’
factor in it as well.

For me, for example, it was completely
illogical to sell videos when we sell about one every six months but had
shitloads of the damn things around the store. The way I saw it, in the
same space we had a $1 video we could have had a $3-4 book or two $3 DVDs. It
kinda did my head in. So now the videos are being sold off 3 for $1 (as are
cassette tapes) and even now they are not exactly flying out the door, but
removing them to the sale table has made room for all the DVDs that were hiding
out the back. And they do sell so a much wiser use of space I believe. It’s tweaks like that, that can buy you a
whole heaps of space to work wonders in. It and has been wonderful to reawaken my floor supervisor experience and put it to good use here.

Not so in today’s world. My store for example sells no
stained/pilled/damaged clothing (this goes overseas to those in need or for
rags/shredding [for furniture stuffing]), no stained/damaged crockery or linen
and no books with yellowed pages or significant signs or wear.

Which means all the books (not on the sale
table) are in good nick.

And relatively recent

And the type I would read.

Oooooh, lordy.

The fact that I haven’t bought damn near
all of them is testimony not only to my strong will...but also to my strong
sense of self preservation and desire for pre-matrimonial harmony. The Kevman
loves books too, just not on every wall of the house.

But every Tuesday and Friday I get to pat
them and arrange them and read their blurbs. And sometimes I get to recommend
them to potential book Mummies and Daddies and send them off to loving homes.

It’s a very satisfying part of the job. But
even I have to admit, it’s not the most important.

What really matters is that I get to work
for a wonderful cause that generates income for those in need. Now that is the best feeling of all.

Sometimes the best jobs you don’t get paid
for in money

Have a great one!

~Tigress

P.S. Got some spare time? Why not volunteer! Help at a local second hand charity store or animal rescue organisation; help with kids' sport or youth/teen projects; visit elderly people; knit/crochet for Syrian refugee children; sew burial gowns from old wedding dresses for Angel Babies....the list is endless, get on the Internet and start looking!

Thursday, 14 May 2015

It has been suggested that the Kevman and I
possess rather a lot of red wine.

And in relation to many...I guess that's not far wrong.

But while we did have (what we would call) decent amount of red a while back (200+ bottles), this has slowly dwindled to a more sedate
100 or so over the recent year. This reduction has occurred partly because households are
more expensive once girlfriends are installed in them (thus less funding available
for wine purchasing) and partly because we needed some of our linen cupboard and wardrobes back.

You see, when I turned up, space was at a bit of a premium.

Now I'm not meaning to insinuate here that
all West Australians are pissheads...

But let me put it this way: A fair percentage
of ‘em know their way around the local bottle store far better than most sections of the local
supermarket....and they're not remotely afraid to demonstrate the fact.

Aussies (and many Kiwis for that matter) like their liquid refereshments...and
with the FIFO lifestyle being so prevalent in W.A. many have the finances to
back up the habit....including the Kevman who's had the funds for quite a while to fund whatever pastimes he so desired. And
as far as I could tell upon entering his home, he had.

Upon crossing his threshold for the first time,
I was presented with a well stocked bar that would make any party animal grin
with glee. Bourbon, rum, Kahlua, gin, vodka and various cocktail components glinted from behind glass, advertising that any sort of alcoholic
desire could be catered for

Well that looked fun...but where was the
wine.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Kevman:
“This all very lovely darling, but where’s good stuff?”

On the night we met, the Kevman
and I had discussed our mutual love of good red wine and I will not lie, one of
his initial charm points was his apparent ability to tell his Cab Sav from
his Shiraz and not be phased by what he might encounter in a better than
average restaurant. He had mentioned a somewhat impressive wine collection, and
at the risk of sounding like a closet alcoholic myself....I wanted to ascertain
its location.

Just, y’know, coz I was curious like.

“Oh that’s in the linen cupboard”

Of course, where else would it be...

“There’s some in the office too; and the
spare room (this actually turned out to be bourbon); and those boxes by the bar...now
I think about it, they’re wine too.”

Upon perusal...I estimated approximately
160 bottles of grown-up grape juice.

I was speechless for a moment: “You sure
got enough?”

“Pretty sure we’re covered.”

I wandered around, furrow-browed, opening
things and generally being nosey: “You have three fridges...only one of which
has food in it.”

Behind the kitchen bench was a smallish
wine fridge where normal people would have a dishwasher.

Apparently that’s what the gypsy niece was
for.

“And there’re some really nice ports and
muscats floating around here too...think they’re in with the wine though.”

I didn't know whether to be impressed or
horrified and after helping to contribute to the wine total quite significantly
on our first trip away – bumping the total well over 200 bottles - I
demonstrated that I was not averse to embracing this drinking culture.

My body, however, is not really having a bar of it (Ha! see what I did there! 'Bar'? haha...geddit? Oh nevermind.)

I drink too much alcohol, I can’t stay sleep

I drink too much alcohol and my digestive
system starts to pack a sad.

I drink too much alcohol and I can become
jittery and fretful as the week progresses.

I drink almost any alcohol, my face turn
bright red

I drink over four drinks a week and I raise my
risk of breast cancer re-occurrence proportionately.

Well who's a pain in the arse then

But I have learned to listen to my body or
else it starts to speak with a megaphone. Things are little more balanced around here these
days; we still have a decent selection of reds that we have taken great
pleasure in selecting ourselves from various West Australian wineries; there’s
always good bourbon around, and winter will still be port season.

But now we also delight in other pleasures such as good food, good
books, good company and the wonderful games that have sat dormant in cupboards for
so many years.

Maybe we’re just getting old and
responsible these days.

Or maybe we’re just maturing

Like fine red wine ;-)

Have a great week everyone!

~Tigress

P.S. Alcohol, can be a wonderful accompaniment
to life, but should never consume it. If your habit is giving you, or those
around you grief...check out these resources and learn what’s up.

Friday, 8 May 2015

After some person, who shall remain
nameless (coz I actually have no idea who he/she was), bumped his/her piddly
arsed little vehicle into the right rear of the Holden a few weeks back....our
car was finally able to get repaired this week (busy chappies apparently). But as
I had several appointments to keep this fortnight, my beloved organized a
rental vehicle for me.

Enlisting the help of the Gypsy Niece and
her beloved silver Hyundai, we tootled off to Fremantle to pick up said rental, and then proceed to have lunch at one of
the fine local eateries. And all was going well until I was escorted to the yard....and
much to Gypsy Niece’s delight and amusement, handed the keys to a shiny, white..

You guessed it:

Hyundai.

A Hyundai ‘Accent’ to be precise.

Now let’s just take a moment here.

After being accustomed to negotiating greater
Perth in a Holden SV6 I was now being treated to a swift reminder as to why I
enjoy negotiating greater Perth in a Holden SV6....as opposed to a Matchbox toy with ideas above its station. Transferring to the Hyundai
was akin to going from a Sherman tank to geriatric Jeep. Yes, I know the little roller
skate is all economical and whatnot but it also has about as much testicular
fortitude as a half-roasted peanut. And that. I feel, is being a little harsh on
the peanut.

Needless to say my Hyundai tales have been a point of
humour all week...mostly not mine.

It wouldn't be so bad if some other people
didn't drive like pillocks. I am not sure what it is about indicators, but
people often seem to think they are optional....especially when taking the
second exit on a roundabout. No you are not ‘just going straight ahead’ you are
entering a roundabout and should indicate wherever and whenever you leave the
damn thing, regardless of which exit you take. It’s not rocket
science...seriously.

But to add to the fun and games, I had to
take the kittens to the vet for their follow up appointment and as they had
already found it necessary to completely circumvent their cones and each pull a
stitch out....the vet was less than impressed. Long story short...accompanied
by the fact that they couldn't sit still if their furry little lives depended
on it, they now have fat little tummies that need monitoring each week until
the swelling goes completely down.

Most humans following abdominal surgery
like to kick back and relax; but not these two clowns....not only have Merlot
and Shiraz found it hugely entertaining to gallop around like demented school
children, they have also developed an insatiable desire to climb on a person as
soon as one bends over....requiring the need to either hunchback of Notre Dame
yourself to the nearest chair in the hope they'll dismount, or stand up and thus have them perch on your shoulder like a fluffy, whiskered parrot.

Despite their avian tendencies however,
they are still managing to recover well. And surprising enough, they love the
flavour of their anti, inflammatory medication.

Little druggies.

Another foray I took in my petitemoblile was
to the ‘boob place’. Now in all fairness they scan any part of your body you so
desire, but as I desire to keep my boobs, I had them scan those. Now as my last
titty cancer was in an awkward spot (I am nothing if not the queen of awkward)
it was only picked up on ultrasound (well, actually, it was picked up by
me...then an ultrasound). So not only were my ample mammaries squished within
an inch of their life, they were also gelled up and checked for 'things what don’t
belong' that way as well.

I can think of worse ways to spend an hour, I guess (thankful for modern technology and stuff).
And of course, because the left one has received most of the attention over the
last five years...the right has decided it wants to feel special. “It is most
probably absolutely nothing, but we would love your previous films from New
Zealand...just for comparison.” Which simply involves me sending a letter to my
Mama, giving her authority to uplift said films from my previous hospital in NZ
(What’s the betting that after she reads this, I get a Viber message, saying
something to the effect of: “Why the hell haven’t you sent me the bloody letter.”
Quite delicately spoken is my Mum.)

I’ll do it after this Mum...I promise.

Now to its credit, despite all this gallivanting
around (which also included trips to the supermarket, and a local second-hand
shop where I volunteer) the little snot-beetle has yet to drop under half a
tank. And it is definitely easy to park.

But it doesn’t really like moving in a
hurry. You put your foot down and it has to think about what needs to happen
next. It’s sort of like you’re speaking a foreign language to it through a
translator.

“Oh ‘accelerate’ means move faster?? Oooooh, ok, ok, I do that now.”

“Thanks, thanks for coming to the party on
that one. A little earlier would have been nice, but hey”

And as for anything involving a slope...

"What? You want me to go just as fast....UPHILL?!"

"Yes, yes I do."

"But it's hard work!"

"You'll be fine"

"I dunno, I think I feel my carburettor starting to give."

"If you don't don't shift your whiny arse up this hill, I swear to God, I'll have your spark plugs for earrings!

"Oh right you are then"

And off we go.

I know, I know, I should just be grateful
to have something with motorized wheels, but I can’t say I'll be emotional when
it goes back.

Thursday, 30 April 2015

The elders of
the house have all deserted to various locales around the country so I am hijacking the computer
again. She really needs to change the password though...I feel “Maximus_Is_King”
would be suitable.

Well isn’t that
poetic.....the juniors have had their first trip to the vet.

I am smiling.

Now they will
not be able to reproduce. I see no issue with this (neither do they at present
as they have no idea what’s actually happened) as I feel more of the little furshirts
would just be even more annoying than these two already are! But it is funny
how one trip to the vet can change your life so dramatically.

I went there
once...and came back with NO BLOODY TESTICLES!!

This means no
little Maximi! Now THAT is a
tragedy.

But that’s the
thing with females of the species, nothing goes missing in these operations, or
if it does nothing that can be seen from the outside. No mark of their
femaleness slashed and emptied like shucking oysters (Mine were decent sized
oysters by the way...just saying).

It’s just all
very thought provoking.

Now while I must
admit, I am getting used to these two little interlopers hanging around I was
not impressed with whatever the hell they came home from the vet in; scared the
living bejesus out of me. Massive great cones around their heads...other than
looking completely ridiculous, they also looked like occupants of another
planet.

...that unfortunately I couldn't send them back to.

But I digress.

I
just about had conniptions. And I made a point of going nowhere near their little
hooverish heads. (Though to their credit, I'm damn sure we got better cell
phone reception while they had them on.)

The purpose of
these apparatuses was to stop them getting to their stitches. The little goobers
still managed it though and also drove the human female of the house demented
by licking the inside of their cones repetitively in the vain hope that they might
eventually make fur contact and have their bath complete.

After 3 days of
this attempted bathing, the cones came off. The little clean freaks are now washed
and order is restored to the household. And I can finally bloody sleep in peace
without that infernal woman bellowing every five minutes: “Shiraz and Merlot! If
you don’t stop licking the inside of those God damned cones, I'm going to takes
the things off and jam it up your little furry arses!”

Well
now....aggressive much? (And wholly ineffective as it turns out.) Must have
been that time of the month. Maybe she needs a trip to the vet.

The most
delightful thing about them all being clamped, chipped and vacced though, is that soon
they can sod off outside. If the whim takes me, I may even sod off with them

I know, I know,
you’re all thinking I have gone soft, but this is not the case. I am merely
changing my approach. It is much easier to manoeuvre (thus corrupt – and possibly
export) my little furry minions if they think I am friend rather than foe.

I'm actually
achieving success here already. Merlot has now learned to scratch at doors.
For some reason the humans all looked at me when this first occurred! I just
gave them my: “Well you brought them here” look. I don’t think they were
impressed.

Then there was
the time that I taught Merlot how to jump up the water feature and walk along
the fence to freedom. One night out on the town, pre being fixed, and next
thing you know, they’re inside cats. Oops, sorry ‘bout it.

Well the elders
did install the little twerps here, it’s not my fault that some of my awesomeness
is rubbing off on them. It’s only to be expected.

Just so long as
they know who the boss is

And that’s all
in the little things I have found: commandeer a sleeping spot here, piddle in a
litter tray there...they know the story.

I may not have testicles but by crikey I still know how to work the ladies.

Thursday, 23 April 2015

Tomorrow (25 April, 2015) in Australia and
New Zealand we will celebrate ANZAC day. This is something we Aussies and Kiwis do every year to
commemorate our fallen soldiers, particularly those from WWI. These soldiers,
called ANZACS as an acronym for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, landed
at Gallipoli to fight the Turks back in 1915 and it must
be said, really put their all into it. This campaign was the first major
military action of Australia and New Zealand as independent dominions,
and is often considered to mark the “birth of national consciousness” in the
two countries.

Tomorrow marks the 100 year anniversary of
that ‘birth’. 100 years since our troops landed in a foreign land to do their
bit against the 'enemy'; 100 years since the commencement of eight months of
fighting that would lead to the deaths of 44,000 allies including 8709 Australians
and 2701 New Zealanders; 100 years since we joined the apparent world Fight
Club that is International Politics.

So did we win at Gallipoli? Hell no, got our asses
kicked, but we tried damn it! And Turkey was most gracious about it all and buried
our dead in carefully tended cemeteries as a nod to the effort of the challenge.
But overall it wasn't a howling success.

And a hundred years later I'm not sure the
message has got through. Are we are honouring our fallen in a way they would
appreciate? Don’t get me wrong, a dawn service is a suitable and oft powerful
remembrance, but I can’t help but think that we altogether ignore what they
were fighting for: the ultimate goal of peace. Though it has been said that
fighting for peace is like f**king for virginity (and that’s not far wrong),
you can’t ignore the intent if you’re going to commemorate the people who
fought for it.

After a century, one would like to think that
we have found other ways to work toward the ANZAC’s goal, but the stats aren't
looking good. While WWI cost approximately 31 million deaths (not including
Spanish Flu fatalities), the so-called ‘War to end all Wars’ was quickly superseded
by the Second World War (1939 – 1945) which cost the world up to 85 million
human lives. Considering the world population only went up from 1.8 billion in 1914
to about 2.2 billion or so in 1945 it’s easy to see that a fair amount of human
capital went six feet under just in those two conflicts.

And other countries haven’t exactly toned
it down either. With major conflicts in Africa, Asia and the Middle East ....things
don’t seem to be improving a whole heap.

And neither are attitudes of intolerance
that fuel the wars in first place, those of disdain and hatred toward human
beings different to our self. For example, as of 2013, 74% of Russians
(predominant religion Orthodox Christian) believe that homosexuality should not
be accepted in society. Also, according to a 2014 study, 25% (mercifully down
from 48% in 2011) of Australians hold ‘anti-Muslim’ views (not surprising
considering the media bias of the country) despite the fact that many Muslims
are fighting hard against the extremists within their culture themselves and embrace Australia’s way of life significantly. And then there are white cops shooting black people and generally not helping the case of all the genuinely good white cops out there.

And then there's the parts of the world that are now just a
war torn mess (Syria and Gaza spring to mind here).

Instead of world unity, we are still just
trying to create more distance between an imagined ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ even when ‘them’
(for an Aussie or Kiwi) could be a child refugee in Syria or a hard-working,
tax-paying next-door neighbour.

Is that really what the ANZACs got their asses
shot off for? So we could sit here 100 years later doing the same shit, just in
a different bucket?

I can’t help but feel that we have f**ked
this up a little.

Maybe tomorrow, instead of just looking
backwards, we should also look forward. Look to (and actively pursue) a future
where we make an effort to smile, communicate and understand the world from
another’s point of view before we judge and discriminate. A future where we recognize
that different countries’ laws and cultures are specific to that country regardless
of the dominant religion (For example Jordan, Mauritania, Palestine, Saudi
Arabia, Indonesia and Turkey are all 90%+ Muslim countries but all have very different
cultures and worldviews on certain issues, just as Croatia, American Samoa,
Republic of Congo, Iceland, Puerto Rico and Greece are all 90%+ Christian
counties but also have very different cultures and worldviews)

Maybe we can look towards a future where every
single one of us makes an effort toward the global peace the ANZACS were
fighting for. Whether it is donating to Amnesty International, schooling yourself open-mindedly about world politics and disseminating information, or even simply knitting blankets for Syrian
refugees.

Do something.

But if you want to keep it really real for
ANZAC Day, how about donating to causes that support the rehabilitation of
homeless and mentally ill war veterans that rarely get discussed in the media.
Help the people who put their asses on the line (just like the ANZACS) to fight
for people to be able to live in peace. Whether the motivations for the
wars are just or not, the soldiers do what they are told to do and often pay a
very high price for doing so.

While it is commendable to remember those
who have died for your country....it is even more important to remember those
who fought and lived.

Have a great ANZAC Day everyone.

P.S. Here are just a few of the many organizations
that can help you help others

Friday, 17 April 2015

To say I held it together would be somewhat
of an exaggeration, but we were doing ok, Lil Blondie and I. But I can
comprehensively say, nothing kills you more than watching your tearful child go
through those gates with only an air hostess and seven other kids she’s never met
for company. As a mother, you start to question who you are and every decision
you've ever made in your life.

And walking back to the car was a hazardous
experience as well, as I couldn't see through the haze of tears, but I knew I had to get
a grip because I had highways to tackle to get home. And I knew the Kevman
would be there, waiting for me on Skype, to tell me it’s ok and I'm not a bad
mother for choosing to live in another country from my youngest child. In reality though, there wasn't a lot he could say to allay the temporary grief that is now part and parcel of my parenting life.

It had been a grand three weeks, though;
we visited Fremantle, went bowling, Lil Blondie tried her hand at golfing at
the driving range (wasn't too shabby either for a first time eight year old)
and we also took the resident Gypsy Niece with us to go pottery painting. Shopping was also
done and a fair amount of game playing, Uno and Monopoly Deal being the
favourites.

Lil Blondie getting her golf game sorted.

But come the final day more cuddles than
normal were had; brave faces put on and reminders given of what awaited the youngest
member the family once she got home: her Daddy, her cats Bella and Trix and all
her school friends. Mummy would be fine I said: “And before you know it, it
will be next school holidays and you’ll be back here again!”

And Mummy will be fine...maybe tomorrow, or
the next day when the Kevman flies in from his island. But for right now, I'm
busy trying to pull positivity from the fact that I'm snivelling and missing
her little blonde head and goofy grin; the droopy morning look and the
dementedly excited look of one about to go somewhere exciting; the mess in the
room; the insanely repetitive Animal Jam tunes emanating from the office....ok
maybe I don’t miss that...but basically everything that reminds me that I'm a
mother..

I miss her

And reconciling one's heart and soul with one's head is never easy.

But this is good...to be reminded so
profoundly that I love my kids so terribly much. The power of the World Wide
Web enable unprecedented contact in this increasingly fragmented world and I
know she is cared for well in her New Zealand home where she belongs. I have
never been an emotionally connective type and struggled greatly with the intricacies of
balancing single parenthood with a full time career and an ever degenerating
body. Ironically, I know I am a better mother now. The time I spend with my
kids is able to be devoted completely to them and I have time to build a rapport
and share humour with them as opposed to going through the motions of a very
stressful existence and having it rob me of all that happy parenting can be. In many senses I am very lucky.

Now, like a metaphorical light bulb smashing,
shards piercing my consciousness like vaccination needles, I realise completely
why I have chosen to write about this today: to remind myself that I made a
good decision coming here and I should never allow myself to slip into the
gendered abyss of guilt that can come with being a mother intentionally
separated from her children. Her father is a good father; we were never that
great as husband and wife obviously, but he provides well (better than I could) the day to
day stability and calm she needs for a healthy life.

I am the rebel, the adventurer, the
alternative. I always have been and I like to think I am the fuel for my daughters’ dreams, the
catalyst for them believing that anything possible if they keep exploring and believing all the while being a decent person
and doing the best they can.

I refused then, as I do now, to let society’s ideas of what a
perfect mother should be dictate my parenting role in my children’s life. I
played life (and still do) by my own rules, ones that work best for me mentally and physically and thus, by
extrapolation, are best for my girls. The way they love me back is confirmation
enough that I am on a perfectly acceptable track.

And if I do this right....my daughters will
grow up knowing they have the right to live exactly the same way.

Thursday, 9 April 2015

I have come to the conclusion there are
some situations where restraint just ain’t gonna happen.

For the most part, I can make it around a
supermarket with only minimal dodgy shit making it into the trolley. And when I see
my beloved at the airport, I can restrain myself from leaping into his arms in
such a fashion that he will require a surgical truss for the next three months. And usually, I can say no an extra piece of cake.

I cannot, however, walk into a book store
and simply ‘look’.

You stick so many stories, ideas, and smells of adventure in one place and I can guarantee you that I'm gonna want to
take some home. Not that I necessarily have time to read all of these books,
but OMG:

BOOKS!!

Who’s with me here??

There’re rows and rows of ‘em in these
places: big ones, small ones, skinny ones, fat ones, fiction, non-fiction, ....everything
from gardening to Grumpy Cat. How is one supposed to resist God damnit!

Let
alone if they have a sale on....that’s just silly talk.

I have given up. I have come to the
conclusion that if I go in, more than just me will be coming out.

I guess it’s understandable though, when
you think about it; my first word was “book” (like, actually) and I grew up
with a ton of ‘em. I can’t say I ever saw my parents read much but I know it
happened. Dad was quite the Wilbur Smith and Brian Callison fan when it came to
bed time reading. Mum was a bit of a late bloomer and has only been into the
novels for the last 15 years or so starting when I bought her Frank Mc’Court’s Angela’s Ashes as a gift. But my reading
was always strongly encouraged.

I sense a trip down memory lane coming
here...

Yep, here it comes....

I remember my first school-age book
infatuation being with the ‘Twistaplot’ book series, in particular “Train of Terror”. You know the ones,
where you read a few pages then had to choose which path (storyline) to take (“Pick-a-Path books were similar): Choose to buy the hamburger, go to page 48
(where you promptly choke on it) or choose to walk away and go skating, turn to
page 91 (the option that lets you live for at least a few more pages.) These
books taught you the hard way, to be prepared for anything let me tell ya.

Around
the same time I also consumed the series of 6 ‘Meg’ mysteries by Holly Beth
Walker and then The Hardy Boys series (none of this girly Nancy Drew crap for
me) and developed a firm ambition from there to be a police detective. This did
not pan out obviously, but was probably my first real occupational goal as a
child. I collected almost the entire series of Hardy Boys books the way my own
child was later to collect ‘Goosebumps’ books. I even read their survival
handbook and became a firm follower of the TV show...subsequently developing a
fairly decent crush on Shaun Cassidy. We were totally dating...but he was usurped by Simon Le Bon a year or so later before I could ever let him in on the deal.

It wasn't just the books I read to myself, however, that were memorable. At times I recall being read stories, chapter by chapter,
at school. I was exposed to several Roald Dahl books this way but also heard an
exceptional tale written by Robert C. O’Brien called Mrs Frisby and the Rats
of NIMH. Mandatory childhood reading right there I say.

Marilyn Sachs (Amy and Laura and Laura’s
Luck) and Judy Blume were other authors I investigated in my youth. But the
books I really got a kick out of for a while were anything where you had
to work something out, Encyclopaedia Brown being a good example here.

Moving on, I concurrently developed a love
of both horror and animals stories, though fortunately, not in the same storylines. Before I get to them, however, a few other random reads rate a mention.

One stray book I read, relating to neither
of the above topics was Fire and Hemlock
by Diana Wynne Jones (who also wrote Howl’s
Moving Castle among other children's fiction). This book was just odd but I loved it very much and still
have fond memories of it to this day.

Another, that had me in fits of hysteria,
was I Want to go Home by Gordon
Korman, which relates the story of two boys at Summer Camp, one of which (Rudy)
is trying permanently to escape. It’s just gold.

Relating back to the horror genre, in high
school (age 12/13+ in New Zealand) I developed a complete addiction to teen
horror writer Christopher Pike who had the ability to freak you out like no one else; The Chain
Letter series and Road to Nowhere are firm favourites of his. There was also one ending with an evil spirit getting
trapped inside a blind parrot which sticks in my mind...as it would, I guess.
This obsession (with Christopher Pike, not blind parrots) later translated to a keen following of Dean Koontz as an adult and also
the reading of several Stephan King books (Needful
Things is one of my favourites here, far better than the movie).

Along the animal lines, one of the best
books ever written, in my humble opinion, would have to be Richard Adams’ Watership Down. The world of Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig, Kehaar and the
many other animals on this journey is just absorbing from start to finish. I
cried like a baby both times I read the damn thing and would recommend it to
anyone, adult or child, for the rest of forever.

The White Fox by Brian Parvin was
another favourite as well as anything else dogsledding/Iditerod/Arctic
oriented.

It was about mid high school that I started
to appreciate autobiographical works. I read Scot Free, an hilarious personal account of Alastair Scott’s foray
from the Arctic to Mexico while wearing a Kilt; The Autobiography of the Reza
Kahn Pahlavi (aka the previous Shah of Iran before the Ayatollah Khomeini got
in there) and another that you may find odd or even hypocritical for a professed animal lover...

Death
in the Long Grass by Peter Hathaway Capstick is one
of the best books of the hunting/ranging genre you will read. Recounting tales
from his time as a white hunter and game ranger in Africa in the sixties and seventies,
Capstick entertains with humour and action packed stories, all the while
reminding the reader that you respect all of Africa’s occupants or you die.
While some of his stories did involve escorting trophy hunters (something that declining
animal numbers and growing ethics just can’t support these days) a lot of his
work was also sorting out rogue animals and culling populations when they
exceeded what their environment could support. He was an advocate for safe and
responsible hunting and a staunch enemy of poachers. This book is pure ‘unputdownable’
reading pleasure.

As I
got older, regardless of whatever other stuff was going on in my life, I relished
in the fact that I could always retreat into a book. From trying out a few of Dad's Brian Callison books (The Auriga Madness and Trapp in World War Three being especially excellent), to consuming epics like Gone with the Wind or
thought provokers like Catch 22, I was always able to escape my world into that
of someone else’s.

My horror bent later shifted to crime with
a love of Patricia Cornwell and while her protagonist, Kay Scarpetta is an appealing
one to me, my favourite part of any of her books will always involve Kay's niece Lucy Farinelli; she
is just queen of intellectual, helicopter-flying badassery.

I also lean socio-political at times and
consequently highly recommend Douglas Rushkoff’s Life Inc (originally a required text for a university paper I was doing but now seriously one of the best books I have ever read) as well as Us
and Them by Australian ‘respected journalist and media commentator’ Peter Manning.
The latter should be compulsory reading for every Australian and goes a long way to addressing the media's part in creating an Islamophobic nation.

Today my interests are broader than ever. While I have
knocked off several of the 1001 Books You
Must Read Before You Die (The Handmaid’s
Tale –Margaret Atwood; To Kill a
Mockingbird – Harper Lee; Fear and
Loathing in Las Vegas – Hunter S. Thompson; The Catcher in The Rye – J.D. Salinger; Supercannes – J.G Ballard [another favourite] to name a few), I also
like to frequently kick back with a little of what’s currently popular or an
amusing autobiography. I just tend to go with what appeals on the day I start a
book.

So what am I reading right now? Well I have
just finished The Rosie Project by
Graeme Simsion... delightfully entertaining, I must say, and have moved on to Aldous
Huxley’s classic Brave New World.

Thursday, 2 April 2015

I love social media. The intrinsic power it
has is awe-inspiring; not only can you share interesting and relevant
information and articles easily and swiftly, but you also relate your own personal slant while you’re
at it. You can quiz your friends about movies, restaurants and food or pick their brains about sports or recent media or political occurrences.

Or you can share memes.

Millions and millions of memes.

Now before we write off the humble meme as
a mere token of Facebook frippery, an embellishment to our page designed to
make us appear humorous, enlightened or informed, it must be noted that some
are actually rather good. I have frequently encountered memes that are both
well presented and intelligently written. I have also encountered others that
have been complete and utter shit.

Now Facebook is a fabulous place but if you
believe everything you read on it you’re going to have a hard, and probably
depressing, time. Many memes I have read are biased, judgemental, stereotypical
and/or just plain stupid. And in the interests of being a helpful citizen...let
me warn you of a few.

(I will refrain here, despite the title of my blog today, from commenting on religious
memes as everyone is entitled to their own opinions of what they think God’s
supernatural powers are, and if I get started on all the hate fueled anti-Islamic propaganda
about, well shit’s just gonna get real....I created this space for people to
escape controversy and that includes me, so I’m gonna stick to the non-religious
stuff.)

The first meme that springs to mind is a
gender one. I don’t consider myself so much a feminist as more of an advocate for gender
equality. The meme goes like this:

“Yes, I'm a woman. I push doors that
clearly say pull. I laugh harder when I try to explain why I'm laughing. I walk
into a room and forget why I was there. I count on my fingers in math. I ask
for food and then don't eat it when I get it. I fall in love too fast with
someone who doesn't actually love me back. I hide the pain from my loved ones.
I say it is a long story when it's really not. I cry a lot, more than you think
I do. I care about people who don't care about me. I try to do things before
the microwave beeps. I listen to you even though you don't listen to me. And a
hug will always help. Yes! I am a woman! And I am proud of who I am.”

I wish the person who wrote this a lifetime
of squeaky chairs and naval lint.

“I push doors that clearly say pull” I have
seen my father do this, along with many other penised members of the community.
Next

“I count on my fingers in math.” The only
time I use my fingers to count is when I am showing someone how to count to one....while
demonstrating how much I don’t like them.

“I ask for food and then don't eat it when
I get it” Where the hell did this one come from?? I paid/asked for it, you can
bet your damn patootie I’ma gonna eat it! Don’t eat it....don’t ea...who is
this clown?

“I hide the pain from my loved ones”: Ummm,
so how often have you heard a person saying their male partner/relative needs
to ‘open up’ or ‘talk to somebody’ about something he is dealing with? If we
were going to lean gender biased on this point, wouldn't you think it would be
the other way?? So how about we simply smile and move on before people actually
do and miss the point of my rant entirely.

“I say it is a long story when it's really
not.” This is simply a ploy utilized so one doesn't have to waste time talking
about something that either one doesn't want to talk about or that one feels
the other won’t fully understand or relate to. It is basically an idiot shield.
Idiots come in both genders....and so do people who utilize this phrase.

“I cry a lot, more than you think I do” Any
crying disparity can largely be explained by hormones though if you are crying
a lot, you should get checked for depression....like actually. While there may
be some small substance to this particular stereotype it is hardly a feature that
would make me rave about being a woman. Just saying.

“I care about people who don't care about
me” Your choice...doesn’t require tits and a vagina to choose it. Talk to any
man who has been rejected or cuckolded but who is still in love with the subject of
his affections. I am sure he will relate to the above.

“I try to do things before the microwave
beeps.”I looked on YouTube. I found: “10 Things to do before the microwave hits zero”…guess the gender of the star. Next.

“I listen to you even though you don't listen to me” Oh c’mon! This
is the story of some guys’ lives! Don't even go there people.

“And a hug will always help” A hug helps
everyone. Why do you think men have been so drawn to team sports over the
years? For one reason they are allowed to touch and be affectionate without
being thought effeminate. Delightfully, this is now changing in everyday life.
Everyone needs hugs, men included, don’t be a bitch.

“Yes! I am a woman! And I am proud of who I
am.” That’s nice dear *pat pat*. Now how about just trying not to be an idiot
and being proud of that.

While I do understand the need for a
certain feminine rebellion (we still do not have equal pay and working
conditions in some professions and gender bias is still rife in
media/advertising representation), this is hardly the way to go about it. This
sort of crap just reinforces unfounded stereotypes, both male and female (for
by suggesting these are women only traits we are overtly excluding men from
being allowed to identify with them) and really needs to just staahhhpp!

Number Two (before I blow a gasket)

“The best sign of a healthy relationship is
no sign of it on Facebook.”

What a complete crock of shit that one is. What this
one should read is “Don’t put all your happy shit all over Facebook because my
relationship is shit/in a precarious place, my partner would never do that for
me and I secretly wish he/she would sometimes, or I don’t have a partner and I'm
jealous.”

Some people are very private and keep their stuff themselves.....their
prerogative and I totally respect it, but I have waited a long time to be in such a fantastic
relationship and you can bet your ass I'm gonna share the joy. I don’t do it to piss anyone off or to shove it up all the single people, I do it for the following three reasons:

1) We see enough miserable/boring shit on
Facebook: someone hates his/her job, someone hates someone else, someone had
lunch, someone had a shit holiday experience, someone got divorced, whatever...We
want to show people that sometimes stuff goes right, that happiness is still a
possibility, that love is a real thing and if treated with respect, can last
(hence why the Kevman and I still post fluffy shit on Facebook a year later),

2) We
have received a lot of positive feedback about it, people are so glad to see us
so happy, it makes them happy. Some of my friends have even private messaged me
to that effect based solely on a romantic post. People love feeling happy, even
just vicariously. I love being able to facilitate that.

3) We love publicly praising our significant other. While much of our posting may make others happy, the things we post are
primarily for each other...that is, they represent our feelings toward the other and we are more than happy to broadcast to the world that we think and
feel these things. We enjoy showing the other that we would put our reputation
on the line for them and are proud to be in a relationship with them. We both enjoy
verbal affirmations, it’s as simple as that.

So far as I'm concerned, as long as both
parties enjoy and interpret these public displays of affection as love then there
is no reason not to share your happy relationship on any medium you damn well
please.

The third and final meme I’d like to
question goes something like this: “When you don’t have to worry about what you
say, you know you’re with the right people”

Let’s just take a moment here. If you
consider ‘the right people’ to be people who don’t tolerate your shit, call you
out on unfair statements, let you know when they are hurt by something you've
said and are not afraid to disagree/debate with you, then yes, I
believe you are with the right people.

But if you consider ‘the right people’ to be
friends who just appear to ‘get’ where you’re coming from with your statements, don’t take
offense, and back you up wholeheartedly, we could have differing opinions of
what ‘right’ means.

My personal belief is that you should
always surround yourself (actually or virtually) with a wide variety of people who
have varying knowledge bases and broad ranges and lengths of life experience.
To only surround yourself with people ‘like you’ creates a perfect fermentation
environment for fear, hatred and bigotry. These forces then swell to varying
degrees against anyone or anything different.

So if the ‘right people’ are those who
challenge, stimulate, appreciate and respect you and your uniqueness, then as you were Sir Meme, go
on through. If, however, you’re suggesting that everyone should have a little
posse of like-minded minions to unquestioningly support their belief systems,
then step aside and let the real memes through.

Ultimately, the point of all this, is to
show that you must always question what you see, read and hear. Just because
someone is tech savvy enough to write a group of words into a computer program,
does not mean they are smart enough to read the tacit, or even obvious insinuations contained within them. While piss-poor grammar and spelling are often a sign of
questionable meme thinking, I have seen perfectly written crap also circulate the Facebook
world at a swift rate of knots. All I ask is that you please try and trip it up where you can.
Thanks.

Well that is enough of my opinions on the
world....go forth and have a jolly spiffy weekend!!

Thursday, 26 March 2015

See I've dropped off the parents at the
airport and picked up the youngest offspring who is now here until the middle
of April. While the elders were seen off without a hitch, the airline seems to
have lost Lil Blondie’s luggage, but as much as this is rather inconvenient, I
can’t help but simply feel grateful that her plane landed safely with all on
board intact, unlike other recent aircraft flitting about the skies.

My
thoughts and healing vibes are with the families of those killed in the recent
air tragedy in the French Alps.

It’s a funny thing gratitude; for many people
it seems to only turn up in times of extreme events, and unfortunately for some,
it never turns up at all.

People seem to find it so hard to appreciate
what they have...and I find this sad.

If I sat down and thought about it, I have
a long list of things I could be thoroughly miserable about. But for each and
every one I have something to be grateful for. So if I am going to rabbit on
about being grateful, best I lead by example. Here are the negatives and
counter-positives in my life as I see them.

Negative 1: I've had cancer and it may come
back one day.

Positive 1: My cancer taught me to
appreciate my life at a base level and not feel guilty about cleansing negative
energy from it. The fact that it may come back reminds me that the word ‘may’
is very different from the word ‘will’.

N2: I don’t get to see my children as often
as I used to now I live in Australia.

P2: I have the Internet/Facebook to
communicate with Miss 19 and see Lil Blondie every school holidays. I get to
spend quality time with her now, much more than I did when I was a burned out single
Mum.

N3: I have a painful degenerative
spondyloarthritis condition that requires I take daily medication to manage and
limits the amount and type of physical activity I can do.

P3: I can still walk, talk, hug people,
write, type, think, read, exercise (within reason), drive, wash and dress
myself, kiss, make love, laugh, feed myself, do housework, see, hear, touch,
taste, smell and many other things that many other people cannot do. I am lucky.

N4: I have Fibromyalgia. I am frequently
tired and sore and have multiple digestive difficulties. I sometimes have poor
concentration and cannot even remember what the start of my sentence was.

P4: Refer P3

N5: My partner (Kevman) works away for part
of the month and I miss him a lot.

P5: I have a partner who loves me very much and messages me every single day. Every three weeks I get to pick him up
from the airport and it feels wonderful! Even the anticipation is delicious. I
get to miss him and be reminded how much I feel for him. Yet I get to remain
independent and am able to focus on my individual pursuits.

N6: I cannot maintain a full time job due to
my health and family/partner commitments.

P6: I'm having time to get diagnoses and the
health assistance I need as well as learn the best way to manage my body for
maximum results. I have time to read and write as well as investigate healthier
eating (reeeeally need to do this more). I also get to spend a whole week with
my partner as well as have time to do craft and volunteer work. I am also
investigating an online business with Miss 19.

N7: I cannot fix all the problems in the
world that worry me.

P7: I can sign petitions, keep learning,
practice tolerance and understanding, do my part in spreading love, education,
positivity and joy where I can and encourage others to do the same. I can be
the change I want to see.

N8: I sat down to write today feeling decidedly
average.

P8: I now feel lucky, motivated, appreciative
and just a squidge more in love than before (impossible I thought).

So I leave you with a challenge: Write down five
things you are grateful for every day for 21 days.

Feel your life change

Tell me all about it! On here or on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Kiwi.Tigress